


Sins and Scars

by gildedfrost



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Closeted Character, Condoms, Dissociation, Good Parent Amanda (Detroit: Become Human), Hypersexuality, Internalized Homophobia, Knotting Dildos, M/M, Promiscuity, Sex Addiction, Smoking, Wall Sex, this is not a romance so don't expect it to be one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:15:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25851946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedfrost/pseuds/gildedfrost
Summary: Connor sleeps around with other men. It gives him the intimacy he craves, but leaves him feeling worse in the aftermath. One of the men he encounters, Hank, helps him learn how to change his life for the better and reconsider the closet into which he's put himself.
Relationships: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 36
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning in this chapter for violation of consent during sex ( **not** between Hank/Connor). General warning for sex under the influence and sex as a coping mechanism.

Connor’s cheek is pressed to the wall in the back of the club, sweaty skin against peeling paint. The music is distant, overtaken by the rhythmic slap of skin on skin as another man ruts into him, breath hot against his neck. Connor gasps quietly and spreads his legs further. His jeans are halfway down his thighs and underwear pulled down just enough to give the stranger access. He doesn’t give any thought to it when he grinds forward, rubbing his cock against the wall through the thin fabric of his briefs, chasing pleasure from every angle.

His orgasm comes first, cock twitching as it expels his spend into his underwear. His partner follows soon after. It’s hot inside him, and he only feels a little dismayed that it’s being caught by a condom, not allowing him to feel as filled and used as he wants to be.

The stranger zips up, pats Connor’s ass, and says, “Thanks.”

Then he’s alone.

He relishes the lingering thrill of fucking in a public place, of fucking a stranger. The mess in his pants and the way his hole clenches feel good, and he stands there a few minutes longer, basking in the afterglow and his own sweat, before making an attempt at looking decent.

He finds another man and invites him to the same corner of the club.

When he leaves after that, it’s with a grin and a confident step. He feels sexy, wanted, and completely satisfied. He got exactly what he was looking for and every inch of him is sated. He drives home, weaving a bit during the trip thanks to rubbery legs and the lingering effects of alcohol.

The excitement fades with every mile he puts between himself and that bar.

Connor’s apartment is a mess. His laundry is heaped in a basket, overdue for a wash. An old shirt lies crumpled over the back of the couch. One of the kitchen lights is out and he hasn’t yet replaced it. The place is empty, the walls are blank, and it looks every bit like the place is just waiting for him to leave already.

The mess he’s made of himself is intolerable. He barely cleaned up at the club; now, shucking off his clothes, he wrinkles his nose at his underwear and the tacky, gloopy mess on his cock. There’s a bruise forming at his collar that he doesn’t want to see or feel. His makeup is smudged from all the sweat and rough treatment.

He steps in the shower and regret washes over him. The memories of phantom hands and dirty whispers linger like dirt on his skin. The hours he’s spent are gone, with little to show for it but an ache in his legs and experiences he no longer cares to recall. It was fun, but now it’s not, and he wants to take back what part of himself that he gave away so easily to those strangers.

He sits in the shower until the water runs cold, then chugs some water and tucks himself into bed.

* * *

Three days later, Connor goes to a club, gets drunk, and does it all again.

In the clarity of the next morning’s hangover, he thinks about how pathetic it all is. He wants to feel good, and loved, and wanted, even if that comes from the arms of strangers in dark alleyways. It doesn’t match up to the fantasy of real, lasting affection he craves. It’s like a cheap knock-off version. The easy, most available option, able to tide him over and give him a rush while he dreams of romance and dating.

Sleeping around like this still feels like a new phenomenon in his life, but by this point, it’s been years. It took him months of self-reflection to figure out why he even does it: he’s hurt and he’s scared. His neuroses and the shit his birth parents put him through are problems he’s ignored since he quit therapy in high school. The sex is a good distraction, one of the few things that can ground him and make him stop feeling so anxious, and it’s become a habit that’s probably not that healthy. (Definitely not, according to the clinic he had to visit last year.) Thing is, it works—and it fulfills a need for intimacy. Two birds with one cock, and all that.

It doesn’t give him all he desires, though. He wants a relationship, but the thought of going out somewhere public with another man makes his skin prickle. Everyone knows him as a straight-laced professional, someone who follows the rules and is a natural leader. Someone who perfectly fits the image he puts forth. Amanda’s always praised him for his achievements and pushed him to be the best man that he can be.

Risking his image could crack one of the few pieces of stability he has in his life. The realization made him feel awful, and his idle thoughts about coming out have been buried ever since.

He moves across the city for work a week later and promises to do better by himself. He has a fresh start ahead of him. He can quit spreading his legs for every other man who looks at him and take a step towards putting his life on track.

It’s only two weeks before he decides that feeling like shit at home isn’t as good as feeling like shit after a good fuck, and he goes to the first lively bar he can find, ordering a drink and making himself look available.

The place is filled with straight clientele. He goes home with a woman, desperate for any affection, and ends up further out of his body than he usually is. She asks why he doesn’t stay, after. He says she’s not his type, and she curses him out.

* * *

Connor finds himself in Jimmy’s a week later. It’s one of those nights where he doesn’t care if he gets fucked or fucked up, and when he’s one cig and two beers in, he starts flirting with the closest guy at the bar. Red hair, lots of muscle, handlebar mustache, and smells like a whole lot of beer.

The guy snubs him and leaves, so he downs another drink and tries the guy who comes in next, sitting next to Connor with a seat between them. Connor scoots over to that seat, earning a sour look. “Hey, big guy,” he says, putting on his most seductive smile and clearly glancing at the man’s chest. He hopes he looks more put together and less desperate than he is. “What’s your name?”

The guy waves Jimmy over for a drink. He’s older than Connor’s usual: Gray hair, gray beard, and wiry gray hair tantalizingly sticking out the top of his patterned button-down shirt. “Where the hell did you crawl out from?” he asks, clearly not impressed.

“That’s a funny-sounding name.” Connor props his head up on his hand. “Got any plans for tonight, Mr. Where? I’m Connor, by the way.” He none-too-subtly eyes the stranger up and down. The guy’s big, and it looks like a good bit of that is muscle. His clothing is comfortable, not fitted. Connor itches to find out where all his curves are and exactly what he’s packing. He wants those hands all over him and that beard rubbing against the back of his neck. Between his legs, too, if he’s lucky.

“Hank.” He takes a generous gulp from the glass of whiskey. “There’s a gay bar three blocks over, you know. Might be more your style.”

Connor notes that for later. “But you’re in this one,” he says coyly, turning and leaning back against the counter.

Hank looks at him properly, eyes slowly roaming over his face and chest. Not quite checking him out, but it’s close. “And I’m the one you’re interested in?”

Connor swallows. “Yes.”

He doesn’t want to push too hard. He lays it on heavy when he flirts, sure, but he never wants to pressure anyone else. If Hank says no, he’ll shrug, turn back for another drink, and keep his eye out for another man. He may not have shaved for a couple of days, but his face is pretty enough to find a catch.

Instead, he finds himself in Hank’s car in a dimly lit parking lot, jeans and underwear discarded on the floor as Hank sucks down his cock like it’s his last meal.

It’s a tight fit. Connor sits upright in the back seat and Hank’s on his knees beside him, and it takes all of Connor’s willpower to not grab Hank’s hair and thrust up into that mouth. He grasps firmly at Hank’s shoulders, wrinkling his shirt, and keeps his movements small, only pushing forward when Hank moves his tongue like _that_ or does something else that makes him lose control.

When Hank pops his mouth off his wet cock, Connor reaches back down to his jeans, fishes through the pockets, and tosses a lubricated condom at him. It bounces off of Hank’s chest. “I want you in me,” he says, panting. He can see the bulge in Hank’s pants and it makes him ache.

“Christ, you’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

“I need your cock.” Connor squirms, getting on his hands and knees as he hears Hank unzipping and opening the packet. “Make me your needy little slut, Hank.”

Hank presses the head of his cock against Connor’s hole. “You sure about this?”

“Yes. Please.” Connor hesitates, then: “Sir.”

“Fuck.”

Hank pushes in slowly. Connor inhales quickly when the head pops in, then moans as Hank eases forward. He clenches tightly around Hank’s thick cock. The stretch is on the limits of his comfort zone, just enough for him to feel a bit of a strain, and by the time Hank is buried to the hilt, he feels completely full. He rests his cheek against the cool glass of the window and whines, rocking backward against Hank.

“Are you good?” Hank asks, his voice rough from the combination of pleasure and having just given a blowjob. He reaches around to give Connor a couple of firm strokes. His palm is rough and perfect.

“Yes, yes, I’m good, I’m fine. Fuck me, sir. Fuck me hard.” Connor presses back insistently. “Please.”

Hank rocks into him, grinding with a slow, steady pace, and it’s just enough stimulation to placate him. Connor manages to stay quiet except for his moans. When Hank pulls out further, a complaint is on the tip of Connor’s tongue, and then Hank’s hips snap forward, knocking the breath out of his lungs.

Connor gets exactly what he asked for. Hank thrusts hard and deep, every thrust delicious, every touch of his hands electric. It’s rough and carnal, and then it’s fast, making Connor dizzy with sensation. He feels grounded and present in the way he so rarely is, and he knows the man behind him sees him in a way that he wants to be seen, making him feel sexy and wanted.

He still wants more. “Hank,” he breathes. “You like this?”

Hank grunts. “Yeah,” he says. When Connor looks back, he sees Hank’s hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. “You’re my good little slut, Connor. You ought to see how desperate you look on my cock.”

That makes Connor moan, and when he tightens hard around Hank, he knows he’s close. He reaches back for Hank’s hand. The other man gets the hint, taking Connor’s cock in his hand, and when he moves his wrist just so, that’s it for Connor. He cries out as he comes onto the upholstery of the back seat, and Hank pounds into him with abandon until his hips stutter and he presses in deep one last time, where Connor can feel his cock pulse within him.

They both relax into the back seat, Hank sighing while Connor floats as if in a daze. The windows of the car are fogged from the inside, giving them their own little pod away from the world. Connor feels the lock button on the door digging into his cheek, but refuses to move, not wanting to risk losing any of this feeling.

Fortunately, Hank has paper towels in the car, and he fusses about with them on the floor before dealing with the worst of the mess. Once that’s done, he looks over at Connor, looking far more pleasant than when he walked into that bar.

“Did I live up to your expectations?” Hank asks, wearing a smug grin. Connor wants to see those lips wrapped around his cock again.

“More than.” Connor pulls his clothing back on, because despite the relative privacy, they are still out in public. He almost leaves the car to walk back to his own, but Hank hasn’t moved.

He doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries, but given how comfortable and soft Hank looks, he decides to take a risk. He shuffles over and leans against Hank. The other man stiffens, but he’s quick to wrap an arm around Connor and hold him close.

Connor hasn’t had something like this in a long while.

Hank clears his throat and Connor’s heart sinks. “I can drop you off back at Jimmy’s. You’ve got an automated car, right?”

“Yeah.” He’s had enough to drink that he shouldn’t be driving. Shouldn’t be out sleeping with other men, either, but neither he nor they have ever cared about his inebriation. Drunk or sober, he enjoys and regrets it every time.

Back at Jimmy’s, neither of them move for a few minutes. Lingering—that’s new. Like they’re both trying to remain in this little pocket of existence they’ve made for themselves tonight, and saying goodbye means a return to the standard dull lives they lead. An end to the fantasy.

Connor reaches for the door handle and Hank breaks the silence. “You want my number?”

“What for?” The words slip out of Connor’s mouth, too fast for him to catch. Something else for him to regret.

Hank chuckles. “You’re the one who had your eyes set on my ass. I wouldn’t mind doing this again sometime. Maybe on a bed, I mean.” He shrugs. “Unless I was just convenient.”

It’s true. Connor doesn’t want to admit it, because he’s starting to feel like he used Hank. but he’s not used to seeing someone twice.

“Or we could go for a coffee,” Hank suggests.

The thought makes Connor tense up. “I already know where to find you,” he says, the words coming out harsher than he means, and he sees a flash of something in Hank’s eyes. He opens the door, stepping out and shutting it closed without a goodbye.

He leaves without looking back.

The self-loathing sinks in early tonight.

* * *

Connor puts on a bright smile when Amanda calls in the morning.

“Connor, darling,” she says, “how are you settling in? We already miss you.”

“I haven’t gone that far.” It’s only the other side of Detroit, but it does mean it takes that much longer to visit the rest of his family in Ann Arbor.

Amanda’s outside in her sprawling garden, a trellis of roses visible behind her, and both of his brothers are present, looking far more awake than he feels. They have orange juice, fruits, toast, and probably other breakfast foods, as they normally do every other Saturday. Connor’s already eaten—freezer waffles are hardly photogenic—and has a mug of coffee with his tidy kitchen behind him on the camera. The ashtray is hidden in his bedroom.

“The new office is good,” Connor says. He moved here for work, after all. “I’m getting along with everyone, and the attorney I’m working with is great. Her name’s North. Organized, a demanding schedule, all that stuff you’d want and expect from her.”

“Do you know anyone else there?” Nines asks. He’s the youngest triplet, but he’s always looking out for the other two, and Connor appreciates the concern in his voice even as he dislikes all the focus being put on him today.

“No, but I’m making friends. It’s all been easier than I expected, honestly.”

“Good,” Amanda says. “I know moving is stressful.”

“I’m thirty-four. I can handle it,” Connor insists, keeping his tone light. The move isn’t really stressful, anyway. He’s just dealing with the same problems in a new place.

The conversation turns to other topics: Amanda’s return to teaching at university next week, the non-NDA-restricted projects Nines is working on at his lab, and whatever is new at Silas’ work (“It’s accounting, Nines, it’s the opposite of exciting.”). Connor nods and smiles and says the right thing at the right time, even though it begins to sink in that he’s really further away now. His family feels so distant on the other side of the screen.

When the call ends, he’s quick to put away the tablet. He’s already up, so he forces himself to do some chores he’s been neglecting, and starts tossing clothing into the washing machine. It’s not the distraction he wants it to be; his thoughts wander, making him feel hollow and dirty.

He wants to be held in someone’s arms or taken out of his head, and that’s his go-to reaction to any bad feeling, even though it’s precisely the cause of his current thoughts. What kind of guy sleeps with the first person to look his way on any given night? What kind of a person is he if he lets someone take him however they please, out in the back of a club, an alley, a car? He’s as depraved as people think gay men are: Sleeping with as many men as he pleases, wherever he can, with sex as the only thing he seems to care about.

God, and the things he’s said… He grimaces, tossing more underwear in forcefully. He doesn’t want anyone to call him a slut or a whore. He doesn’t like to call others daddy, or to beg, or to let them do to him some of the things they’ve done, but he’s so desperate for a kind touch and praise that he’ll bend over backwards and ask for more.

He doesn’t even want to be called gay. Doesn’t want to be gay, in the end, when it would be so much easier and socially acceptable to settle down and have kids with a woman. That alone feels as shameful as everything he’s done so far. What would his mother think if she knew what he got up to? Would his brothers hate him for wanting another man to hold him? He can’t even sleep with a woman without breaking down.

When he checks the pockets of his jeans, he feels a card and some condoms in one of them. He pulls it out, expecting something with an ad or one of those cards where he can collect stamps towards a free coffee or meal.

Instead, it reads: _Hank Anderson - Lawn Care & Gardening - M-Th 7-4_

He pauses, wondering how the hell this got there. Realization trickles into his head, telling him that Hank must have slipped the card into his pocket sometime last night. But that would have been before Hank offered his number, so why…?

Unless he was expecting Connor to decline.

He adds the number to his phone, fully expecting never to bump into Hank again, and tosses the card.

* * *

Connor finds himself at another bar on Thursday night after work, still in his suit and tie, dancing and kissing and flirting with a guy he wants to take somewhere else. The stranger wants to work up to it, and Connor agrees despite his impatience, because the attention he’s getting anyway is good. His cock is half-hard already and all the kisses give him a thrill.

They meander out of the place still touching and clinging to each other. The other man had the foresight to park in the back corner of the lot, far from the entrance but surrounded by plenty of other empty cars. It’s a risky spot, even with the dim lighting, but Connor’s been in riskier places.

Now things are more to his speed. Drifting hands, clothes abandoned, and before he knows it, the stranger is pressing into him from behind. God, it’s exactly what he needs. He moans and leans forward, and the other man wastes no time picking up the speed, thrusting into him fast and hard.

He turns his head, wanting to see the other man’s face, and freezes.

He’s holding a phone.

He’s _recording_ this.

“What the fuck?” Connor says. His first thought is that someone is going to see this, and he doesn’t want anyone else to see this, something that he can pretend never happens because there’s no evidence of it.

His second thought is that he’s pissed off.

His partner slows. “Something wrong?”

“Put the phone down.”

That earns him a laugh. “C’mon, man. You’ve got a great ass.”

The compliment only bothers him more. “Put down the fucking phone,” Connor says coldly. “And delete whatever you recorded.”

“It’s just for me.”

“No.” Connor nudges him backwards, feeling his cock slip out. “I don’t care. Delete it anyway.”

The stranger pockets his phone. “I’ll do it later.” He watches as Connor starts to gather his clothes. “Hold on, don’t tell me you’re actually upset about this.”

Connor’s hands are shaking. He pulls on his clothes and buckles his belt as quickly as he can. “Don’t patronize me,” he snarls. “If you thought my consent mattered, you would have asked.”

“I didn’t think you’d care. I mean, you were looking pretty desperate anyway, so—”

There’s a satisfying _crunch_ when Connor’s fist hits his nose.

He’s out of the car before the asshole can say anything else, speed walking to his own car to get the hell out of here before the other guy can manage to see straight again. His cheeks burn as he drives out, setting the car to autonomous only once he’s out of sight of the bar since he really doesn’t want to get ticketed right now. He tells the car to take him to a strip mall a couple miles away and lets his mind turn blank.

Once there, he cuts the engine and sits in silence, bright lights shining into the car. He’s still shaking from the adrenaline. There’s a peculiar mix of revulsion and need at his instinctive desire to go find some other bar or club where he can forget about everything for a while. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s had a partner do something he didn’t like, but the callousness, the complete disregard…

He’s glad he punched the man.

He doesn’t talk about his feelings to anyone. It’s not what he does. He indulges in his vices, goes home, and sleeps, then works until he feels shitty or lonely enough to go out again. It feels like he’s stuck now, because he’s too restless to go home but far too upset to go back out, and there’s no way he could turn to his family right now. A phone call won’t do any of them any good.

It takes him an embarrassing number of minutes—two cigarettes’ worth— to remember the one person in recent memory who’s invited him for coffee.

He wipes the blood off his knuckles, fixes his tie, and dials Hank to ask if that offer still stands.

* * *

It’s ten in the evening and Hank’s answering a booty call.

Better than a date with Jack, he supposes, though he wonders if he shouldn’t have started drinking earlier to make this feel any less weird. Connor had said coffee, but the place is a bar, and he suspects the other guy is trying to flatter him a bit before round two. That’s fine by him. He doesn’t know what Connor sees in him, but it’s been a long time since he’s had a night like that.

Once Hank gets there, he feels a bit underdressed.

Connor already has a coffee, creamy foam on top and, almost surprisingly, not smelling of alcohol. “You didn’t tell me this was a _date_ date,” Hank says, sitting across from him. Connor’s suit and tie put Hank’s casual attire to shame. It’s a far cry from what he looked like the other night.

“I didn’t say it was a date at all.”

“I invited you, and you set the time and place. Sure seems like a date.”

“I don’t date men,” Connor insists, then he softens his voice. “But we can go someplace private once we’ve finished our drinks.”

“Then we don’t have to call it one. I can be your dirty little secret,” Hank says dryly, throwing him a wink for good measure. It’s not his first time running around with some bi guy with a reputation to maintain. It sucks a bit, but what else is he going to do? Air this fling out on social media?

Connor gives him a smirk that only looks a little forced. “Not so little, though, are you?”

Hank laughs and orders a drink.

It’s easy to bring Connor back to his place. They hardly make it through the door before Connor’s hands are on him, fumbling with his buttons and buckle. The space between there and the bedroom is all a blur.

The sex is great. The sex is downright fantastic, and Hank’s left trying to catch his breath while Connor cries out for more. The sounds he makes go straight to Hank’s core and the way he looks at him makes Hank feel wanted again. Hank doesn’t know what he did to deserve this, only that they’re both having a great time and it’s a welcome reprieve from the darkness in his own head.

After, they stay in bed together, lying on top of the covers as the sweat and spend dry on their skin. Hank’s glad he had the foresight to tidy up for five minutes, even if that only accounts for shoving the mess in the closet or laundry basket. “So, was round two just as good, Mr. Accountant?”

“I work in a law office, Hank,” Connor says, and Hank can almost hear him roll his eyes. His neat suit and tie are strewn about the floor with the rest of their clothes.

“Don’t lawyers need accountants, too?”

“I’m sure some do.” Connor sits up. Hank does the same, leaning in close so their arms are touching. “I should probably get going,” he says. His gaze lingers on the tattoo on Hank’s chest.

“I’m not kicking you out.”

“I didn’t know you wanted more.” Connor glances down at Hank’s soft cock, then back up to his face. He runs his fingers along Hank’s thigh. “I’m interested if you are.”

Hank stops Connor’s hand with his own. “You’re way too eager, is what you are. I’d offer you coffee, but I don’t have any of the good stuff. Want a beer?”

Connor frowns. “I don’t stay.”

“The offer’s open. I don’t have anything else to do tonight.”

It takes a moment, but then Connor nods, withdrawing his hand. “Neither do I.”

* * *

Connor only lingers long enough for a beer. He meets Hank’s dog and they sit on the couch watching a drama with Sumo at their feet. Then he’s off, making excuses and leaving, because if he’s going to have an emotional crash, he doesn’t want to do it where someone else can see.

That, and because it feels like too much. Every touch of Hank’s hand to his, every time their skin would brush together, or Hank would lean a little closer, it felt like something he shouldn’t have. Guilt rose in his throat like bile with every second that passed with Hank in the intimacy that comes with sitting together in dim light.

So he goes and sits at home like he didn’t want to do, and he wonders how the hell he called Hank looking for friendship and ended up seducing him instead. He half-heartedly tries to get off in the shower, but the memory of Hank’s hand against his own keeps him from finishing.

He feels distantly upset about the recording. It’s faded now, like it happened to someone else, not to him just a few hours ago.

This can be written off as a bad day, he tells himself while he towels himself off. He won’t see Hank again and neither will he see that other guy. He’ll wake up, go to work, and watch something on TV while he cooks dinner. A normal day for a normal guy.

* * *

Nines visits over the weekend.

Connor gawks at him from the doorway. “You couldn’t have called in advance?” His voice pitches higher, and he feels like he’s gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He was only ten minutes away from slipping out and checking out a new bar, but here his brother is, a takeout bag in his hands that smells absolutely delicious.

“I was in town and thought I’d stop by,” he says, stepping past Connor and into the apartment as if he lives there. “Want some food?”

It takes a moment, but Connor forces himself to relax. This is his brother; his company should be good and easy to be around. “Yeah. Thanks. What brought you around?”

“There was a concert downtown featuring one of my favorite composers. I thought I’d spare you the invitation.”

Connor smiles, sitting at the table as Nines searches for the plates and cutlery. “I don’t actually hate concerts, you know.”

“You get obnoxiously restless. I wasn’t going to chance it.”

“Am I really that bad?”

Nines hums. “Kind of, yeah. But you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t.”

Once the food is laid out, Connor helps himself, taking some from both of the curries. He hopes Nines doesn’t think anything of his outfit, tight jeans and a skin tight shirt, complete with eyeliner. It’s not the worst thing he could be wearing right now.

“How has it been all the way over here?” Nines asks. “Really. I know you put on a smile, but your last move stressed you out.”

“I’m good. Honest. Not having a mold spot in the corner will probably do wonders for my health.” He didn’t have a particular attachment to his last place except that it was familiar.

“You’re not being overworked, are you?” Nines asks after a few mouthfuls.

“No, why?”

“You seem a little off-kilter.” Nines glances towards the kitchen counter. “And I didn’t know you smoked.”

Shit. He’d left the cigs on the counter. “Not often,” he says, and it’s true. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t smoke at all, but that’s mostly because of the price hike on his health insurance.

At least, he thinks it’s true. He’s never kept track of how much he smokes.

“I won’t pry. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“You’re good like that.” Nines has been there for him more times than he can count, so it’s a wonder that his words now get caught in his throat, so much about him tucked away from the one man who’s never shown him any judgment.

He misses Nines. They still talk and see each other, but their relationship isn’t the same as it used to be. He’s kept his family at arm’s length for a long time and now he’s keenly aware of how much that loneliness hurts.

When the food is finished, Connor takes a long drink of his water. Nines has too much faith in him, takes him at his word so readily, and he feels dirty for manipulating his brother like that. “I’ve had a few things on my mind,” he admits, thumbing the condensation on his glass. “Not about work or moving. Those aren’t a problem.”

Nines leans back in his chair. “What is it?” he asks softly.

There’s a hundred things Connor could talk about. He can’t come out to his brother. He can’t tell him another man took a recording of him and made him feel violated. He definitely can’t tell him he’s slept with so many men, most of whom he’s already forgotten, or about the one man he saw twice whose hand around his makes him dream of more. The cigarettes and alcohol aren’t something he wants Nines to address. He can’t…

He almost laughs at himself. When did he put half his life into a box like this? He can’t be honest, that’s his problem.

“Someone hurt me,” is what he settles on, because the hurt is fresh and he hasn’t yet figured out how to quell it. He manages to keep his voice steady. Despite the vagueness, it makes him feel vulnerable. “It wasn’t that bad. It feels silly, you know? I shouldn’t feel bad over something so small. But you’re right, I am stressed.”

“If you got hurt, that doesn’t have to be diminished,” Nines says. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I can’t.” Connor winces. It’s not what he meant to say.

Nines furrows his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

He feels like he’s at a precipice, ready to throw caution to the wind and tell the truth. It would be so easy to say a few words, let Nines know that there’s a few pieces in his life he’s struggling to hold together. He doesn’t want his brother to hate or pity him, but he knows he can’t keep him close while pushing him away. The words sit at the tip of his tongue. All it would take is a few seconds.

“I punched him in the face,” Connor says instead. He’s growing agitated talking about it. “It’s resolved. As long as he doesn’t carry some kind of grudge, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s over.”

“It wasn’t that bad, but you punched him in the face? Connor, are you injured?” Nines reaches forward, resting his fingers against the back of Connor’s hand.

“I’m not. Promise. Just a little upset.”

“And the cigarettes?”

Connor shrugs with a thin smile. “I have my vices.”

Nines looks at him for a long moment. Then he nods, standing to take both of their plates. The running water is a soothing replacement for their conversation, but then Nines speaks again. “Was it a breakup?”

Connor stops breathing. “No,” he says, heart beating faster. “It was a disagreement. I’m not gay, Nines.”

“Just checking.” Nines scrubs the plates. “I haven’t known you to date anyone, so I’ve got no idea.”

“I don’t know if Silas has dated anyone, has he?” Nines is clearly straight, having had a few girlfriends over the years, but despite Silas’ claim of irresistible sex appeal, he’s never once mentioned a partner. If Connor had to bet, he’d say Silas has occasional flings, focused more on his career working at CyberLife.

Nines hums thoughtfully. “He’s seeing this guy named Markus. Has been for a while, apparently, but he didn’t bring him around to show off until the other week. You should meet him sometime. He’s nice. Amanda managed to reel him into some discussion about morality and ethics in the development of artificial intelligence, and that’s where I lost the thread of conversation.”

The information makes his mind blank. Somehow, in all of his worries, he never thought one of his brothers might be gay, too. “Amanda was okay with that?” he blurts out.

Nines glances over his shoulder. “Why wouldn’t she be?” he asks sharply.

“I don’t know. It’s one of those things you don’t know about a person, even if they’re good.” He feels strangely off-balance, almost like this is a dream. “She’s a good person. I know that.”

“Silas was worried, but she thought they made an adorable couple.” Nines sets the plates in the dishwasher to dry, then leans back against the counter. “Guess that makes you the straight sibling.”

He stares at Nines. Him, too? “Does it?”

“Kind of funny, right? We might be triplets, but we’re all different sexualities. I’m sure there’s some sort of intriguing science behind that.”

Connor nods. Numbly, he helps put away the leftovers (which Nines insists Connor keeps), and by the time Nines is gone, he feels hollow.

He doesn’t go out. Instead, he grabs a beer and stares at the blank TV until his vision blurs with hot tears, wondering where everything went wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

Connor decides to come out to his family.

His family may not judge, but he’s still scared. What would it mean for his job and future employment prospects if people found out he was gay? Would the people around him look at him differently? All his life he’s seen social acceptance and legal rights shuffle around in a way that leaves him queasy, from the harassment of gay acquaintances to anti-discrimination law amendments, and admitting out loud that he’s gay feels like unmooring himself from a safe harbor to drift along unpredictable currents.

It should be an easy choice, but deciding that it’s the best option is not the same as admitting what his sexuality means to him. It would be one thing if he could say he flirted with and dated men, wanted to hold and be held, and otherwise had normal wants and behaviors. Except he knows his promiscuity is excessive and his libido is far higher than he wants it to be, and that’s not something he knows how to divorce from his orientation. It feels fake sometimes, the way he hides his sexuality during the day, like he’s only pretending to be gay at night or only in it for the easy sex.

When he closes his eyes and thinks about what he wants from a relationship, he inevitably finds himself remembering warm arms holding him close in bed, the closest he’s ever been to peace.

It’s those thoughts that lead him to feeling helplessly horny on Sunday morning. That and the anxiety that comes from overthinking everything and pondering the prospect of coming out. The resulting stress sends his hormones into overdrive as it usually does.

Connor fingers himself open on top of the bed, sunlight shining through the thin curtains and the smell of coffee filling the apartment. His cock is hard against his belly while he lies back, three fingers stuffed in his ass leisurely moving in and out and occasionally stretching himself further. His other hand ghosts over his cock, teasing with a feather-light touch.

He doesn’t have any obligations today, so he takes all the time he wants, teasing himself and pushing himself to the edge with just his fingers. He shifts onto his knees and sucks on one of his sizable toys, spit dripping down liberally. His cock aches as he imagines sucking off another man, someone who would moan and lace his fingers through Connor’s hair, pulling tightly enough to hurt. A cock that would twitch and throb under his attention, hot and salty, where he would get the most delicious reactions from licking and sucking in all the right spots.

Not that he’s met a lot of guys with cocks this big.

He lubes it up generously. Some of the lubricant spills onto the towel he’s laid out, but he makes sure the whole thing is slick before sitting up on his knees and lowering himself onto it, the tapered tip slipping in effortlessly. The head pops in and he groans. A shock of pleasure goes straight to his cock and it takes all his willpower not to grab his dick and thrust into his own lubed-up hand. Instead, he sinks down slowly, taking inch after wonderful inch of the perfectly curved toy. The textures, all small bumps and gentle ridges, are prominent enough to make him flare with heat but soft enough to provide subtle stimulation.

A knot at the base of the curve halts his descent. He rides like he’s not going to do anything else today, taking deep, shuddering breaths. The head brushes against his prostate every time he lifts himself far enough and the texture against his velvety walls is overwhelming. It’s only when he seriously starts considering giving in and ending this—after minutes of working himself up—that he adjusts his angle and tries to fit the knot.

Once he gets it, it pops right in.

“Fuck!” He grasps at the bedsheets, thrusting forward into nothing. Precum dribbles out from his swollen red cock. The stretch is incredible and he needs to take a moment to adjust. His initial instinct is that it’s too big and he should stop, but that fades in seconds and then the entirety of his focus is centered on that knot tied inside of him. “Oh, god. Christ.” He rocks down, his mobility limited to the last inch of the toy, and it reaches deep inside of him while it stretches him..

He can’t hold out for long. He comes hard around the knot, blissfully riding out his orgasm. All of his thoughts scatter and his eyes lose focus. Cum spurts out from his cock, most of it caught by the already damp towel, and he wraps a hand around it for that extra bit of friction. He lets go when it becomes too much, letting his body continue to move on the toy until he comes back to his senses.

The knot pops out easily with so much lube and he sighs. He drops onto his side, completely spent. Sweat, cum, and lube dry on his skin, and he soaks up the good feeling while it lasts. It’s like the rest of the world doesn’t exist: It’s only him inside his room and the comfort he finds for himself. No responsibilities. No judgment. No fear.

He lies atop his bed and drifts off, forgetting about everything else and basking in the warm feeling.

* * *

Connor’s nap is interrupted by a call from North. He’s needed at work, she says. Something that can’t be put off.

He unenthusiastically jerks himself off in the shower, grabs some still-hot coffee, and stews in his own self-loathing on the way to work.

The call puts him off-kilter. It’s easier to destress at home where he can watch a show or movie, read a book, or try out another hobby, and that’s something he sorely needed today. Not that he would turn down a work call, not with the important work that they do, but it’s poorly timed. North doesn’t notice that anything’s off, at least.

After work, he sits out in the parking lot and texts Hank. He doesn’t see people twice, yet here he is, seeking a third round. It only takes a few minutes for Hank to respond in the affirmative and invite Connor over to his place. He could always head out to a bar again, sure, but that guy’s great at sex. The thrill of getting fucked against a wall just doesn’t compare.

That thought doesn’t leave his head. He entertains a fantasy of Hank pinning him to the wall the second he steps inside. Hank wasn’t above having sex in a car; maybe he’d be down for it.

When he arrives at Hank’s, what happens is a little different.

Hank kisses him just inside the door. It’s brief and chaste and altogether leaves Connor more light headed than a makeout session. “Evening, handsome.”

“Oh.” A blush creeps up Connor’s neck. “Hi, uh, gorgeous.”

“Want anything to drink?”

“Only the tall glass of water right in front of me.” Connor puts his hand on Hank’s chest, looking into his eyes. He doesn’t want to drink because he’ll drink until he’s drunk and he’d much rather get fucked than deal with that demon.

Hank presses their lips together again, soft and sweet. It’s Connor who pushes Hank against the wall, deepening the kiss hungrily and pressing his thigh between Hank’s legs. He fists his hands in Hank’s shirt. Hank grunts and rocks down against Connor’s leg, his hands reaching around to cup his ass.

It’s good but it’s slow, a steady stream when he needs a rushing river. “I need you to fuck me until I can’t walk,” he whispers hotly against Hank’s ear. “On the table, against the wall, in the bedroom… Wherever you please.” He sucks Hank’s earlobe, enjoying the breathy moan he gets in response.

“Not gonna do this where my dog can interrupt. C’mon.” Hank pushes him away reluctantly and gestures towards the bedroom.

Connor wastes no time stripping once he’s in there. His tie, jacket, and shirt are discarded carelessly on the floor. Slipping his belt out from its loops, he pauses as large, warm arms wrap around him from behind. Hank’s erection presses against his ass.

“What’s the rush? We’ve got all night,” Hank murmurs.

It doesn’t matter that Connor’s already gotten himself off twice today; it feels like he hasn’t had release in weeks. “Maybe I find you that irresistible.”

“Not just my dick?”

“Mostly your dick.” Connor lets the belt fall to the floor and puts his hands on top of Hank’s. He tries not to think about Hank’s smile, eyes, or voice, but it’s impossible to ignore the arms around him, holding him in a protective embrace.

It makes him feel safe.

Connor grinds back against Hank. He guides Hank’s hands downwards until they’re cupping him through his pants. The pressure is gentler than he wants, but at least Hank’s fondling him and kissing his neck.

“This what you want?” Hank asks, pressing his cock firmly against the crease of Connor’s ass. He thumbs the side of Connor’s length outlined against the front of his jeans. “You want me to get you off right here with my hands? Make you come in your pants, three feet from the bed, because you’re a desperate slut?”

God, the things those words do to him. His cock throbs. “Yes,” he breathes. “Then use me after. Fuck me into the bed like I was made for you.”

“You want me to fuck you until you can’t walk?”

“I want you to ruin me, sir.”

Hank sucks at the junction between his shoulder and neck while palming Connor as if his self-restraint has flown out the window. “I want you on your knees for me. Think you can wait a little bit longer?”

A spike of heat runs through Connor at the thought of being used like a toy. He bites his lip, pressing his hips forward into Hank’s hands, which retreat before he can find any real friction. The moment Hank lets go, Connor drops to his knees, keeping his own hands far away from his cock as he reaches for Hank’s instead, unzipping his pants to reveal the hot member inside.

It’s thick, hefty, and swollen red at the tip with a bead of precum leaking out. Connor licks along the underside before taking the head into his mouth. His saliva is more than enough to lubricate the way. He bobs his head, taking a little more of the length each time, all the while looking up at Hank with half-lidded eyes.

Hank groans and laces his fingers gently through Connor’s hair. Connor’s mouth is warmed up in no time, expertly sucking Hank’s dick like it’s his last meal. The thick heat in his mouth is delectable. He takes as much as he can, rolling his tongue along the underside the way that Hank likes, then withdraws, his lips pressed against the now-wet tip. “Hank,” Connor says, sparing another lick that makes Hank’s cock twitch. “Fuck my mouth.”

Hank’s fingers tighten in his hair. “Thought I was already doing that.”

“Make me choke on your cock,” Connor whispers.

He knows he’s won by the look in Hank’s eyes.

The other man starts gently. He presses into Connor’s mouth slowly, testing the waters. Connor dutifully keeps his mouth slack, ready for whatever Hank wants to give him. It’s underwhelming (as underwhelming as a cock like this can be, at least), and when Hank finally develops a rhythm, Connor nods encouragingly up at him. Hank experimentally thrusts harder, and then deeper, and the first time Connor gags, Hank immediately pulls back. “Shit. Did I hurt you?”

Connor clears his throat. “I like it rough. I want you to hurt me. Give me your best and I’ll take it like the whore I am.”

“Christ, you’re a dirty little thing.” Hank runs his thumb over Connor’s chin and the saliva dripping down it. “Tap my leg if you need me to stop.”

“Got it,” Connor says, though he’s not sure he believes Hank wouldn’t ignore it. Enough partners in his past have disregarded safewords or done things he didn’t like. Rarely on the level of recording him—and he can’t help the flash of anger that hits him at that thought—but he’s learned to keep his mouth shut if it’s something he can deal with.

Anyway, he wants this. He wants to be thrown around and used in any way Hank sees fit.

Connor takes Hank’s cock in his mouth again and looks up to meet his eyes before Hank thrusts forward again. It makes Connor gag but he stays still as Hank presses in deep yet slow.

It’s agonizing in the best way. Connor watches the sweat drip down Hank’s neck and the way his shirt turns damp while he fucks Connor’s mouth. He relaxes his throat, which only does so much when Hank is so big and so deep. His jaw and throat ache as Hank increases his speed. Tears bead at Connor’s eyes and he gags but doesn’t tap out. He’s not sure if he wants to or not, but he’s desperately turned on and the look on Hank’s face is worth it.

Hank decides for him. After a particularly rough thrust, he pulls out and groans, holding the base of his cock. A red flush covers his face and Connor feels proud at having put it there. “Get on the bed, baby,” Hank growls, voice strained.

Connor stands, slipping out of his jeans. “On my knees?” he asks, sounding far rougher than he did ten minutes ago.

“And keep your hands to yourself,” Hank orders.

“Yes, sir.”

It takes all of Connor’s self-control not to stroke himself, but he obeys, climbing onto the freshly made bed and spreading his legs. His hole clenches around nothing and he aches for the toy he had just this morning, knot and all. If he could only combine Hank’s passion with the sheer size of that thing...

The thought of Hank using that toy on him almost makes him lose it. He files that thought away for later.

“Got any allergies?” Hank asks, opening the drawer of the bedside table. He picks up a condom and a bottle of lube, then looks at Connor, waiting for an answer.

“Shellfish. The lube’s fine. Come on and fuck me,” Connor demands, wiggling his backside.

Hank rolls his eyes, sighs, and shuts the drawer. “Are you trying to be a brat on purpose?”

“Maybe. What would you do if I were?”

There’s a rustling sound as Hank divests himself of his clothes. “That depends. Are you into spanking?”

Connor’s heartbeat speeds up. The rational side of him knows that he always regrets it; the bruising and aching isn’t worth it and the sound of a palm hitting flesh will stay with him for days. But it’s overwhelmed by the side of him that wants to please and wants to take whatever he can get, craving it like he needs it and scared to miss out on anything.

“Yeah,” he says, grasping the bedsheets and grinning back at Hank. “I’m into it.”

The first spank is loud. Connor’s mouth opens in an ‘o’ from the pain and the suddenness. Two more spanks follow in quick succession and Connor buries his face in the pillow. “How’s that?” Hank asks, rubbing a hand soothingly across one of Connor’s sore cheeks.

“Perfect,” he breathes. He feels further outside of himself and he doesn’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. “Now get in me.”

That earns him another two smacks. He moans into the pillow, torn between asking for more and staying quiet, but the crack of the lube lid tells him they’re already moving on.

A slick finger rubs his hole as he’s getting his bearings. “Look at the picture you make,” Hank says, pressing his finger. It slides in easily. It’s nice, the way Hank slowly moves in and out, but much smaller than Connor’s tastes. Still, he takes it, giving no indication of his impatience except silence.

The pace is slow. Eventually Connor is rewarded with three fingers opening him up, giving him the stretch he craves. He makes soft sounds and pushes back onto them, letting out a gasp when Hank reaches forward to give his cock a couple of strokes. “Please,” Connor asks. This is good, but it isn’t hard. “Please.”

“I got you,” Hank whispers. He rubs Connor’s lower back soothingly before withdrawing his fingers. The emptiness is a heady reprieve, but Connor wiggles impatiently until Hank swats him again.

There’s a crinkle of plastic and then Hank’s cock is pressing into him. It slips in without any resistance. Hank slides into the hilt and grips Connor’s hips tightly, taking deep breaths while Connor marvels at how full he feels.

Hank does’t need any convincing to fuck Connor hard. He starts slow, as always, and pauses to take another deep breath after Connor clenches tight around him. Then he snaps his hips forward, knocking the breath out of Connor. “You feel incredible,” Hank murmurs, repeating the movement. “You take me so perfectly. Did you stretch yourself for me earlier?”

“Just for you, sir,” Connor manages to say between gasps. This is exactly what he needs: Hank fucking him hard and fast, making him forget about everything except the sound of skin on skin, the stench of sweat and sex, and the hot heat inside of him. He feels raw both inside and out. He grips the sheets tighter and lets loose with his moans. His cock throbs and leaks onto the bed, desperate to be touched.

Hank slows before shifting positions. He leans over Connor and places his hands on the bed at either side of him, his chest flush with Connor’s back. The hair and sweat make Connor’s mouth go dry. “I’m getting close,” Hank warns, his breath hot against Connor’s neck, and Connor shivers.

“Will you take that condom off before you come inside me?” Connor asks coyly. He wonders how he looks, sweaty with his hair sticking to his forehead, ass red and love bite at his neck.

“Maybe next time,” Hank says. He rolls his hips into Connor in a slow, deep grind, intense despite the slow pace. Then he ruts into Connor, hard and fast and primal, turning Connor’s mind white. It’s so deep and carnal, hitting all the right spots, and his pleasure intensifies as he feels Hank lose his rhythm completely.

Right before Hank comes, he wraps a hand around Connor’s cock, stroking him with the same lack of control his hips have. All it takes is a twist of his wrist to make Connor come with a shout, tightening around Hank’s twitching cock as he spurts on to the bed. They ride out their orgasms together, and when Hank finally slips out and rolls off of Connor, it’s a necessary but unwelcome end.

Connor slumps onto the sheets, certain his legs couldn’t carry him now. “Wow.”

“Wow is right.” Hank musters just enough energy to tie up and toss aside the condom before lying back down beside him. “I haven’t had sex this good since… well, ever.”

“Mm.” Connor stares up at the ceiling. His whole body feels sated and worn out. The afterglow has him feeling warm and fuzzy, and the soft bed only adds to that. He sighs, resting bonelessly against the covers, then lets out a croak when Hank rolls onto his side and pulls Connor in close, one arm wrapped firmly around him.

Hank chuckles, resting his head against Connor’s shoulder and closing his eyes. “I know you’re not the kind of guy to hang around, but if you want to stay and chill, we can order pizza,” Hank says. “I mean, I’m ordering pizza anyway, but you’re invited.”

“Huh,” Connor grunts. He should leave, have his breakdown at home, and smoke a few cigarettes to end the night. He shouldn’t stay here, warm and comforted in Hank’s embrace, yearning for something he can’t define.

The room is quiet now. Only their slowed breathing and heartbeats fill the air. It feels like a transgression when Connor speaks, voice scratchy and throat sore. “Hey, Hank?”

Hank makes a quiet sound of acknowledgement, cracking one eye open.

“I’m…” His shaky voice fails him. He takes another breath and tries again, saying the words for the first time in his life. “I’m gay.”

Hank gestures between the two of them. “Not exactly a revelation.”

Connor swallows and stares up at the ceiling. “Right.” Of course it would be assumed. It feels silly to have said it, now, even if the words were hard to say.

Hank kisses his shoulder, his beard rough against Connor’s skin. “You gonna stay for dinner?”

It feels like he’s floating. He doesn’t know when he’s going to fall and crash as he always does, but he doesn’t want to let go of this sense of warmth and safety. He doesn’t want to go home to his empty apartment and let the hurt sink into his bones.

“Will you hold me?” Connor asks, his voice barely more than a whisper. He blinks away moisture from his eyes.

“Yeah, baby.” Hank holds him tighter, shifting to get both arms around him. “I got you.”

Connor tucks his head into Hank’s chest, closes his eyes, and wills himself not to cry.

* * *

“...and I’m just not sure if he’s into me,” Hank finishes, taking a drink from his half-finished latte.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Jeffrey says, setting his own mug down on the table. “You banged a guy twice—”

“Three times.”

“—three times. He asked you to cuddle, which you did, and then you ate dinner together even though he doesn’t do that. Does he like your dog?”

“Of course he likes Sumo.”

Jeffrey shakes his head. “And you think he’s not into you.”

“The crying after sex was kind of concerning.”

“Intimacy makes people emotional. What do you want me to tell you, Hank? That you’re reading too much into nothing? Because that doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“I need an outside perspective. God knows my head isn’t screwed on straight,” Hank grumbles. He looks out at the street beyond their table outside the café. It isn’t busy, given the light rain, but the two of them are sheltered under a canopy outside the establishment.

“I am not the right guy to give you relationship advice.”

“You’ve given me plenty of advice before.”

“Like what? ‘Quit drinking or I’ll fire you?’ Way different and you know it,” Jeffrey says. “Clearly he’s interested. Ask him on a date. Go out to dinner or a movie or something. I know you’ve been out of the game a while, but you can come up with something. Hell, invite him to see the Gears or whatever awful band you’re into now.”

“He doesn’t…” Hank starts, but shuts his mouth and grimaces. Connor supposedly doesn’t want to date anyone, but saying that now would only be making an excuse for himself. He’s not oblivious. There’s a reason Connor said he doesn’t date men and whispered that he was gay in the comfort of a warm bed and welcoming arms. Connor’s hurt, scared, or both, and he’s definitely not stable. That was glaringly obvious the night they met at the coffee bar.

It leaves Hank suspecting he’s either a rebound or a port in a storm. Neither are good bases for a relationship.

“I just don’t wanna be let down if he says no,” Hank says.

Jeffrey cracks a grin. “You think that’s better than agonizing over it? Better to get rejected now than keep wondering. You’re in a good enough space that you can handle it. Right?”

“Yeah. I’m doing better. Not great, but I’m managing,” Hank says, nodding. He sips his coffee. Admitting that means he’s come a long way from where he used to be. Everything still hurts and there are days when he can hardly get out of bed, but Cole’s memory gets easier with every month that passes. The steady work has done wonders for getting himself back on track. “It would still hurt, but you’re right. I could deal. Maybe I should scare him off by saying I’m an alcoholic divorcé.”

“From the sounds of it, he might be into that.”

Hank laughs into his mug. “Not quite.” They’re probably both fucked up and Hank being a mess wouldn’t push Connor away at all. People like them attract each other. It means they may not be a healthy fit, but they may understand each other on a level they wouldn’t otherwise. “I’ll sleep on it. Maybe I’ll wake up and have some grand revelation on what I should do.”

“Maybe you’ll wake up and ask him on a date.”

“Not before coffee. Can’t make that decision before my first cup of the day.” Hank tips his nearly empty mug towards Jeff before downing the rest of it.

“Just don’t put it off too long. Indecision is a decision in itself,” Jeffrey says. He smiles warmly, the sort of expression Hank never saw on him for years when they worked together. Jeffrey’s career change is doing him some good. “So, how’s the lawn care business? Visit any good gardens lately? I know this professor over in Ann Arbor with the most over-the-top rose garden…”

Hank orders another coffee in the app and settles down for more time with his old friend. Life’s going well, and sometimes he can’t believe it, but more of the pieces fit than not. He’ll be okay with or without Connor but he’s starting to have a more optimistic outlook on life. Maybe they can really make something here. Maybe things can all turn out well in the end.

* * *

“People don’t usually plan their own interventions,” Silas says, kicking the apartment door shut behind him. The takeout bags in his arms smell incredible. Connor’s tempted to disregard any conversation in favor of stuffing his face with shawarma and baba ghanoush.

“Who says it’s an intervention? Maybe I just wanted to see you guys,” Connor says. He stands beside the table, already set before they’d gone to grab food. The cigarettes on the counter draw Silas’ eyes. Their placement is a conscious decision today as a show of honesty for Silas. It doesn’t make him feel any better.

Silas unpacks the food, offering containers to the other two. “We haven’t gotten together like this in years. What is it? Drugs? Alcohol? A breakup?” His arm pauses midway through passing along the wrapped pita bread. “You’re not dying, are you?”

“No! God, no.” Would it be easier if he were? “I really just wanted to see you guys.”

Nines is silent for a moment, then says, “I want to take you at your word, but I am concerned. Is it related to your smoking?”

“It’s not about the smoking. It’s about… reconnecting.” Connor breathes deeply. He’s doing well at keeping his hands from shaking. It’s okay, he tells himself. He can do this. “I love you guys. I don’t say that enough. It’s hard being over here on my own and I kind of wish I could’ve convinced you to move to Detroit, too.”

“I might, actually. Markus lives here and we’re thinking about it,” Silas says. He sets aside the now-empty bag and sits to start serving himself. “He’s my boyfriend. You should meet him sometime; I think you’d get along.”

The reminder makes Connor’s heart skip a beat. Fear and jealousy mix within him with a side of disbelief. How can Silas say something like that so easily? It’s like he’s completely comfortable being himself around his brothers.

But that’s why they’re here in the first place. Connor’s built a closet around himself and now he wants to take it down, piece by piece, instead of molding himself to suit society’s expectations. It started with Hank and now his family deserves to know, even though the words get stuck in his throat.

Once they’ve all helped themselves, Silas digs in. Nines looks to Connor instead, giving him the option to speak, and Connor feels a stillness settle inside of him. When he speaks, it’s like his mind is away from his body, making it easier to force his lips to move. “I’m gay,” he says, staring at the food on the table. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Nines. I wasn’t ready to come out. I’m still not comfortable with it. I don’t…” He falters. “I was scared.”

Silas ceases eating, slowly setting down his food. Connor can hear his heartbeat in his ears. “You’ve been hiding it this whole time?” Silas asks quietly. Connor nods. “You didn’t think we’d be there for you?”

That makes Connor wince. “I didn’t know what to think. What if you hated me? What if Amanda didn’t want anything to do with me? What about my friends and my job? I couldn’t risk throwing everything away like that.”

“That changed when I mentioned we were both gay,” Nines murmurs.

Connor nods. “Now I feel like I’ve been doing this to myself.”

“Bullshit,” Silas says. “It isn’t easy to be out. We get that. I didn’t have a goddamn clue how mom would react until I actually told her, but up to that point, I was terrified. I didn’t want to lose my family.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Connor says, wondering if he contributed to Silas’ own closet.

Silas looks at him seriously. “You’re my brother. We’ve always understood each other. I figured it would come up one day and that would be that.”

Connor looks down at his empty plate. “Oh.”

“For the record, he never made a point to tell me. I bumped into him on a date at the mall once,” Nines says. “Thank you for telling us, Connor. We’ll always be here for you no matter what. I’m sorry if I ever contributed to your discomfort.”

“No, of course not. You two haven’t done anything wrong.” Connor looks between the two of them, ready to squirm under their gazes. He doesn’t think they’d respect him the same if they knew what he got up to most days. He wants to tell them, morbidly curious if they’d turn away in disgust yet alternately hoping for their support, but he can’t. It’s almost too much to come out in the first place, let alone divulge all of his problems. They don’t deserve that.

Nines reaches over to squeeze his shoulder. “The other week when you were talking about that guy you punched…”

That’s uncomfortably close to the topic he wants to avoid. Connor’s stomach lurches at the memory of what that stranger did and the sickening thought that some video of him might be out there somewhere. “We really weren’t dating. Just some guy who didn’t know what boundaries were.”

“He hurt you,” Silas says simply.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s over with.”

“See, the look on your face says otherwise.”

“Silas,” Nines chides. “We’re here if you want to talk, Connor. I only want to make sure you’re okay.”

The pressure in his chest that’s been building all evening threatens to burst. “I’m fine. I’d rather eat,” he says a touch more harshly than he intends. All he wants now is for today to end and to get some sleep. Maybe a good fuck, followed by strong arms wrapped around him.

Silas scowls, but resumes eating his dinner, taking a sizable bite. “Thanks for trusting us,” he says through a mouthful of food.

Connor lets out his breath slowly. “Thank you both for being here.”

Whatever the stress, he has both of his brothers at his side. Soon, he’ll tell Amanda. It will be hard, but her support would mean a lot to him.

As for Hank… He ponders the other man as he chews. Over the short time they’ve known each other, he’s grown very attached. It scares him. He could so easily see himself writing off everyone else in favor of Hank and he can’t tell if that’s because he genuinely likes the guy or because Hank shows him affection and intimacy in a way he’s never known. It’s far different from his usual hook-ups, and he doesn’t want to leave Hank in favor of those, either.

Making decisions is hard, he decides, and he hates it. But the smiles and understanding from his brothers are worth it. With any luck, things will get easier with every obstacle he tackles in setting his life right.

He needs to speak with Hank.

* * *

Hank fiddles with his tie nervously as he waits inside the restaurant, water and menu forgotten before him. “It’s just a date. Nothing you haven’t done a hundred times,” he mumbles to himself. The place is nice without being over the top, some Italian place with good food and no dress code, but he made sure to dress well in hopes of making a good impression.

It took a while to hype himself up, but he managed to call Connor and invite him out to dinner. It feels like he’s turning a new page in his life. Between getting his new business off the ground and working on self-improvement, he finally feels like there’s something good out there for him. Maybe Connor can be part of that.

The anxiety still gets to him. He checks his watch, taps his foot, and looks mindlessly over the menu until that familiar face shows up in the restaurant.

“Hey,” Hank says. He stands up and pulls Connor into a brief hug, letting go the moment he feels the other guy stiffen. “Glad you could make it. You look fantastic.”

An ironed robin blue shirt hugs Connor’s form as if tailored to him, accented by a deep blue satin tie. He smiles somewhat awkwardly and sits down across from Hank. “So do you,” he says quietly, glancing around the restaurant. “Have you ordered yet?”

“No. How about an appetizer?” Hank finally makes himself read the words on the menu. Nothing stands out and he makes himself ignore the mozzarella sticks. “You been here before?”

“A couple of times.” Connor leans forward. “Is this a date?”

Anxiety prickles along Hank’s neck. “Yeah. I thought that was obvious.”

Whatever Connor might have said in answer to that is cut off as the waiter stops by. “Can I get you two anything? Wine, water, starters?” they ask, hands folded neatly behind their back.

Connor gives Hank a lingering look. “What do you recommend?” he asks the waiter.

“The Chianti is quality wine that pairs well with most of our dishes and boasts a bright cherry flavor. As for starters, the bruschetta is one of our classics, but the coconut shrimp is my favorite. The chefs do a really good job on that one.”

“Chianti and shrimp,” Connor decides.

“Excellent. And for you, sir?”

“Water’s fine.” The decision would be so easy to make, but Hank doesn’t want to do anything he might regret.

“Have you decided on your entrées or do you need a few minutes?”

“Give us a few,” Hank says. The waiter speedwalks away to attend another table and Hank turns back to Connor. “How’s your day been?”

Connor rests his arms on the table and sighs. There are bags under his eyes and his face looks pulled taut. “My week’s been kind of shit, actually. I’d rather cut dinner and go home with you.” He grins like there’s a joke in there.

“Come on, don’t you want a nice meal together? A date in a fancy restaurant?”

The glance Connor gives at the décor underscores how not fancy this place is. “I told you I don’t date men.”

Hank can’t help the way his heart sinks. “What is this, then?”

Connor shrugs. “It’s a discussion we need to have. You seem attached to me. Like you care.”

“Of course I care about you, but I’m getting some mixed vibes here. What happened?” The memory of Connor holding him tight comes to mind, clinging like he couldn’t risk letting go.

Connor picks at the corner of his menu. “Are you gay, Hank?”

“Pan, actually.”

Hank waits patiently as Connor mulls that over. Whatever this is turning out to be, Hank wishes they were talking inside a booth, somewhere that offered the illusion of seclusion.

“I don’t have any friends who aren’t straight. That I know of, at least,” Connor says with a sad sort of grin. “I want to be friends with you, Hank, but we can’t date each other and I’m afraid that if we continue to meet, I’ll become attached.”

Hank huffs in disbelief. “So, what, you want to call this off before it even starts because you’d rather be alone? What’s this even about? Are you trying to hide in a closet?”

“No.” The word is short and soft. “The opposite. I’ve been hiding so much for so long and it’s time to fix my life. You’re part of that.” He finally meets Hank’s eyes. “Every time we met was the result of my poor decisions. You’re not the problem. I’m fucked up and I can’t go dragging you through the mud of my life when we hardly know each other.”

There’s a lot to unpack. Hank can’t deny that it stings to hear their meeting as a poor decision. “The last thing anyone should do when they’re struggling is cut out friends.”

“Are we, though? Friends?”

The waiter returns with Connor’s drink and their appetizer. Connor hastily says they need more time to decide, then downs half his glass in one go, the red liquid sloshing as he sets the glass back on the table.

Hank waits until the waiter is out of earshot before he responds. “You sleep with me and cuddle, then leave like nothing happened. You agree to a date, then say it’s not a date. You say you want to be friends, then say we shouldn’t know each other. Are you ever going to commit to anything?”

“I’ve committed to leaving my old life behind,” Connor says. “I have to. I can’t continue to do the things I did and I can’t leave myself the option. I could make excuses upon excuses to hold onto my old habits by staying with you. Don’t tell me it’s easy for you to watch me drink this wine just because you like me.”

Hank’s jaw drops open. “How did you…?”

“I’m good at reading people. Also, you have pamphlets on your coffee table.”

Right. Of course he does. Hank pops a shrimp into his mouth. It’s delicious. He wishes it weren’t. “Let me get this straight. You want to ditch me because you don’t want to be tempted to, what, have sex?”

“I want sex and intimacy, but I want to want them for the right reasons.” Connor laces his fingers together. “You can’t fix me with affection. I’m going to get help. After that, maybe we can get back in touch.”

Hank furrows his eyebrows. “What sort of help? Why do you think this is bad?” He doesn’t know enough to piece together a full picture of Connor, but he doesn’t want him doing something that will make him get worse.

“Sex is what I do. I get upset, I find someone to hook up with. Bad day at work, go hit on someone. Get assaulted, go find someone else. In a club, in a car, whatever the nearest available space is.” He grins crookedly. “This is the first time I’ve admitted it to anyone. The second time will be my therapist.”

“We’re really doing this, then. This… breakup, or whatever you want to call it.” Hank tries not to sound disappointed, but there’s a small void in his heart now where hope was only an hour ago. It doesn’t feel like they’re practically strangers even though Hank knows they are. Holding Connor in his bed and heart felt right.

Connor downs the rest of his wine. “I have to move forward on my own. I’m sorry,” he says. The weight to his voice makes him sound genuine. “I don’t regret meeting you. Will you be there if I call you again?”

“I don’t know,” Hank says truthfully. The image of a gun flashes through his mind. Not now, he tells himself. He has Jeffrey. He has his work. Bad luck in a relationship doesn’t negate all the other good in his life. “I can’t make any promises. You obviously know what’s best for you, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t fucking hurt.”

“Yeah. I know.” Connor sets a ten dollar bill on the table and stands. “But if I didn’t leave, we’d both end up hurting worse.”

Hank reaches out as he steps away and Connor pauses, standing with Hank’s hand on his arm. “Good luck,” Hank says. “I mean it. I hope you manage to set your life on the right track. Just… text me to let me know how you’re doing, okay?”

Connor squeezes his hand. “Goodbye, Hank,” he says, turning away and walking out the door. He doesn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> You can find me on Twitter as @gildedfrost (18+), where I have been livewriting this fic so far, and I spend time in the [New ERA](https://discord.gg/2EKAAz3) DBH Discord server as well! There's a channel on the server to chat about my works.


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